When the great horned owl eats crow, it's not because he's humbled - he's hungry. And they're easy pickin' in the dark when he can see and they can't. But sunrise turns the tables, and any sighting of the flying tiger sets off the owlarm that summons a crowliferating posse to pester him. The air is clogged with crowfanities as the raucous ruckus moves from oak to maple to beech. Finally, tired and feathered, he is escorted out of town by the most direct route - as the crow flies.